Sylas watched as Salivar fell from the skies, retracting his trident with an almost slow, deliberate action. There was a calmness in his eyes that seemed to paint the picture of a man who didn't care whether or not Salivar was truly dead.

BOOM.

Salivar crashed into the sea of ice. A large slab of transparent white split in two, kicking up like the ends of a cracked skateboard and rising high into the skies.

The man himself disappeared into the waves that appeared between the cracked slab's ends, his body vanishing into the endless, sparkling darkness.

And then the slabs crashed back down, booming waves and pillars of water surging to the point they pierced the clouds above. What blood had been produced was completely washed away, erased as though the life it had come from was meaningless.

Then came the silence. It crept on for several long seconds. But the world itself remained intact. If Salivar was dead, things would have long ended.

But if he wasn't dead, then where was he?

This was a question every spectator had, but it was one that Sylas didn't even waste a single thought on. In fact, his eyes had already closed, his trident resting calmly in his hand, loose to the point it seemed it might slip out of his fingers at any moment.

He seemed almost too relaxed for a man whose life and death might be decided within the next day. He didn't feel the pressure someone playing such a game of Russian roulette should have.

What pressure was there to feel when you had the utmost confidence in yourself?

PUCHI.

Sylas' figure flickered, a blade ripping into his side. Blood gushed, and the howl of laughter filled the air.

A Salivar with a rapidly closing hole in his chest appeared before him as though he had always been there. The aftereffects of the wind splitting against his speed hit Sylas with such force he was nearly blown back and away.

Yet, instead of following the current, Sylas stood his ground, swinging his trident across the air.

Space bent and warped, currents of the Mesh of Reality folding against his strike. But before he could land it, his neck tilted to one direction, slowing his momentum.

PUCHI.

A line of red cut through Sylas' armor once again, ripping into the flesh of his neck and severing an artery in two.

Blood gushed with the pressure of a burst pipe, steam filling the air along with the liquid as its heat was frozen over.

Salivar's aura rapidly fluctuated between two states. One moment his hair was a sea of red, and in the next, it was such an overwhelming golden red he shone brighter than the sun in the skies.

The heat radiating from his body was heavier than even the heat coming from Sylas' blood, and as he howled with fervor and excitement, he attacked again, and then again, and then again.

Sylas took one step back after another, gashes appearing across his armor as the cracks within the latter increased. His eyes reflected a steely cold, his trident's movements too slow and labored to keep up with the speed of Salivar's sword.

Salivar suddenly retracted his blade, pulling it back and bending his elbow until it lay perfectly parallel to his cheek. He grinned so wide it looked almost as though he was trying to slice it apart wider with the edge of his weapon.

His personality changed again, Sylas thought indifferently. The moment it did, his power skyrocketed. His Aether is responding more vehemently, as though it can't wait to help him. But why is there this second layer here?

Sylas dodged again, swinging his trident once again and missing. A gash appeared along his arm, nearly taking the tendon with it. He just barely escaped such a fate, but now his own blood was forming icicles against his body, the ice pooling and extending into his flesh as though in an attempt to freeze his entire skeleton over.

He's protecting himself from losing his mind entirely, Sylas realized. If he allows this personality to take over too much, he won't be able to easily backtrack. So he's letting a third of his Aether Pathways leak out a bit so he has a foot in the door in case he needs to undo it.

Sylas finally understood. Salivar didn't just have two Aether Pathways—he had three. And two of them were still in the F-tier.

BOOM.

Salivar howled, the river of blood that formed his hair doubling in size. His tongue ran along his crimson blade, his body shuddering at the taste as though he had fallen into a heaven of his own creation.

While Sylas' own blood was freezing over, the blood that ran along Salivar's blade seemed to refuse to, dripping down as though the temperature didn't feel like it was reaching absolute zero.

Sylas took a breath and looked at the trident for a moment before his loose hold on it fell through completely. The weapon fell, but before it hit the ground, it vanished into motes of light. It had never been a real weapon to begin with, but instead something formed by his Will.

It seemed he didn't have enough practice with it. Even with Nosphaleen's understanding and memories, it wasn't good enough to face someone like Salivar—not when their abilities were built off the back of a centaur who wouldn't even last a single exchange against this member of the Entrim Race.

It would be better if… he just used his fists.

Salivar had already closed the distance the moment Sylas released his weapon. But as though Sylas didn't see him, he flexed his body.

The shards of blood shattered all at once, and Mixed Demonic Arts flashed with overwhelming might.

Ah, yes… that did feel more natural.

Sylas' body left afterimages in the air, a blade running through an illusion of his head as he drove a fist right into Salivar's liver.

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